and
they had, as a matter of fact, been the eyes of an Indian idol. They'd
been cut to look just like it, moreover. I had them lying on my desk,
and I suddenly noticed when I went across the office for something that
they seemed to be looking at me wherever I went. You know what I mean?
Faceted to look like eyeballs and set into some background material,
they were— awfully cleverly done. Well, I didn't think he should have
them recut, and I said so. It wasn't any of my business, but I couldn't
help speaking out. It was a shame, I said; something really ancient
like that, something you'll never see nowadays. I couldn't help
thinking what it must have been like centuries ago, before they were
taken out of the image's head: the priests chanting in a dark temple,
and the incense, and those eyes shining in dim torchlight, really looking at
the people. . . ." His voice trailed off. We were air-borne now, and
had come out of the fog into a blaze of setting sun. Below us was a
gilded floor of clouds.
"But you had to cut them?" I asked.
He
said, "Oh, we had to. The Maharaja insisted. After all, he had a whole
treasure house full of jewels, and this pair was a trifle to him. Those
stones were terribly hard. They had come from the Golconda mines, and
as you probably know Gol-conda diamonds are the most difficult of all
to work. It took us months to grind them down."
Just
then, for some reason, my mind gave a click. It had nothing to do with
the Maharaja's diamonds. Lodewyck van Bereken was Louis de Berquem, the
early and great diamond cutter from Paris. "Of course!" I said aloud.
"Lodewyck was no legend."
"I beg your pardon?" said the diamond man.
